Bridal Style
by Konstantya
Summary: "Honestly," Hungary chided, "it's a good thing I found you when I did. Who knows how long it would have taken you to get back home like this." (Belarus sprains her ankle, and Hungary helps her walk home. Just a short little HungaryxBelarus.)


General Note: I'm only going to reformat my fics so much when this site is the one at fault. So if the formatting is weird, please check out my profile for more info. Thank you.

A/N: Again, based off a tumblr prompt, this time asking for some HunBela (BelaHun?), _"maybe something with them going on a walk or something?"_

Time period: Modern.

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**Bridal Style  
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"Honestly," Hungary chided, "it's a good thing I found you when I did. Who knows how long it would have taken you to get back home like this."

Belarus glared at the woman next to her, who was helping her walk with a hand around her waist and one of Belarus's arms thrown over her shoulders, but the expression was cut short by the wince that came over her features with her next step. Honestly, of all the places to trip and sprain her ankle, it just _had_ to be on the same street that Hungary happened to have been taking a stroll down.

Not that Hungary was all that bad, as far as nations went—a little too chipper at times, a little too boisterous, hardly _bad_—but, well, she wasn't Russia. Which was about the only nation she would have _wanted_ to help her limp along back to Minsk.

Belarus took a deep breath in through her nose—it came out sounding more like a huff than anything—and consoled herself with the fact that it could have been far worse. It could have been Lithuania who had found her. Or even, God forbid, America. Talk about chipper and boisterous…

Hungary shifted, her arm tightening momentarily about her waist as she adjusted her hold, and Belarus caught a whiff of her hair—flowery and earthy, with maybe a hint of leather. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced over at the other nation.

She was stout for a woman, in a way. Curvy, but with shoulders that bordered a bit too close to "broad" to really qualify as feminine. _Strong,_ Belarus found herself thinking, and why that should bring a spot of heat to each of her cheeks, she wasn't sure.

"Why didn't you just pick me up?" she irritably demanded, suddenly just wanting this to be done and over with as quickly as possible. "I've seen you do it with Austria. It isn't as if I'm too heavy."

Hungary stopped and looked at her. Her green eyes were bright and surprised and far too close. "Do you want me to?" she honestly asked.

_Yes,_ Belarus thought, the word jumping into her mind unbidden. She scowled, though whether it was at Hungary or herself, she couldn't tell. "If it would speed things up," she deigned to say, refusing to answer the question outright, as if to do so would be admitting to something she wasn't sure she wanted to, just yet.

Hungary shrugged, and a sporting smile tugged at one side of her mouth. "If you say so," she said, and in the next breath, swept Belarus into her arms, skirts and all. Despite herself, Belarus's eyes widened at the abruptness of the other nation's actions, and her breath caught in her throat. All she could do was put a hand to her head to make sure her bow didn't fall out of her hair, and pray that it was just the shock of being lifted off the ground so unceremoniously that was causing her heart to beat so fast. After a moment, once Hungary was sure she had a good grip on her, she started walking again, at a significantly brisker pace. Belarus took a breath in an attempt to relax, and tried to ignore the warmth of the other woman's arms under her knees and across her back.

She'd dressed up as a prince for Halloween one year, Belarus now recalled. And indeed, there was something gallant about the way she strode along, her boots firm and confident against the ground. She was no Russia, that was for sure—but then…Russia probably wouldn't have offered to carry her in the first place. Probably would have run the other way the minute he saw her, sprained ankle or no.

Perhaps, Belarus dared to think, she could invite her in for tea once they finally reached Minsk. Did Hungary even like tea? Well, Belarus thought. They still had a long walk ahead of them. And even _she_ wasn't immune to awkward silences, not entirely. So perhaps now was the perfect time to ask.

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A/N: Yay! My first piece of yuri! I've actually been wanting to write a f/f pairing (and truth be told, a HungaryxBelarus story, specifically—LADIES, FTW) for years now, but could never actually manage to come up with more than a few lines for any given idea I might have had. So, as short and simple as this was, I had a lot of fun with it, and am now caught up in all these cute HunBela feels.

Anyway, thanks for reading!


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